


A Full Heart

by HelenDamnation



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6746974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenDamnation/pseuds/HelenDamnation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Hawke And Companions Are Nosy Buggers. In which everyone weighs in on Isabela's feelings for Merrill.</p><p>Fenris/Isabela is strictly FWB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fenris

Isabela stretched out on the bed, enjoying the ache that only came from a good tumble or a very good fight. Fenris watched her appreciatively but without urgency. She eyed him back, enjoying the sight of him unapologetically bare in front of her. They lay together in comfortable silence, basking in the glow.

It was nice, this. Sex with a friend. Sex with strangers was good in a different way, thrilling and slightly dangerous. Not that sex with Fenris wasn’t also thrilling and slightly dangerous, but it was also… relaxing. Based on mutual understanding and trust and companionship. Learning one another’s sweet spots over time, that sort of thing.

She caught herself wondering what it was like to have sex with someone you were in love with, and grimaced. Then she regretted grimacing, because it caused Fenris to slide out of his relaxed not-frown back into his default expression.

“No, no, settle down. I’m not hurt.” Fenris worried about these things, felt guilty for being rough. Isabela didn’t mind the odd minor injury in pursuit of a good time, but try telling Fenris that. “I just experienced an emotion, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll pass.” The quality of Fenris’ frown changed. “No,” she said, exasperated. “Not an emotion for you. More of a general sort of thing,” she lied, and pushed Merrill’s bright-eyed smile out of her mind.

He relaxed again, mollified. Then he pulled a face and said, as if every word was being drawn out of him at knife point, “If you want to talk about it, I will listen.”

Isabela laughed. When Fenris glared at her, she only laughed harder. Eventually, she settled down, rolled over to face him, and patted him on the shoulder. “That’s sweet,” she said. “But you would rather have all your teeth pulled out and we both know it.”

“That’s true,” he admitted. “But I am prepared to make that sacrifice.” On his face was the rarest of Fenris-expressions; not only was he not-frowning, his lips actually tilted up at the corners, and though his eyes were still, and always, guarded, light shone through the bars.  
She smiled back, forced herself to let go of the protective mocking edge. “That’s sweet,” she repeated, more sincerely. “But I enjoy talking about feelings almost as much as you do.”

Which was true, but mostly there was absolutely no way she was going to talk to Fenris about Merrill. As far as Isabela was concerned, what Merrill did with her own blood was her own business, but to Fenris she may as well be possessed already. It was… a source of tension, in their little band. One of many, of course; only Hawke’s phenomenal diplomatic skills and a shared love of righteous violence kept them all from blowing each other up and taking most of Kirkwall with them.

That, and the fact that they were all, in their own way, deeply and passionately loyal. Even Isabela, much to her own surprise. Especially Fenris, to no-one’s surprise at all.

Still, for all that Fenris tolerated Anders and Merrill’s existence, he was hardly the person one would speak to if one, entirely hypothetically, got all bubbly and weird whenever Merrill was nearby. He’d think she had cast some variety of spell on one, and one would get all protective and angry and maybe end up cutting off something they’d both regret.  
But Fenris was not prepared to let it go.

“Isabela,” he said.

“Fenris,” she replied. Her tone was light; her eyes were hard. He refused to take warning.

“If this is about Merril…”

She threw herself up and out of bed and started hunting for her clothes, despite her aching limbs. “Oh dear, would you look at the time, I really must be going. I have a busy day of violence and looking pretty ahead of me, and I threatened to take Aveline shopping.” Where on earth was her other boot?

Fenris sat up so he could glare at her better. “I am your friend,” he hissed, “And I care about you, and I worry about you when you do stupid things like fall for abominations waiting to happen. I disapprove, but I love and support you no matter what. Now sit down and stop running away from your feelings so we can talk about this like adults!”

Isabela blinked into his thunderous expression. The fact that he was still naked intruded upon her consciousness, followed by the awareness that she was naked too. She was also standing stock still, holding a shirt, a belt, and a single boot.  
Against her will, her lips twitched.

So did Fenris’, almost certainly against his will as well.

A laugh escaped, then another, and soon they were both wracked with uncontrollable giggles. Isabela dumped her clothes on the floor and collapsed on the bed, trying desperately to breathe through the hilarity of it all.

Eventually, the laughing fit loosed its grip and they settled down, lying on their sides facing each other. Fenris reached out, settled his hand over her ribs, tangled their legs together. He stared into her eyes and said, very solemnly, very seriously, like every word weighed as much as a bronto. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Isabela breathed deeply and widened her eyes against the sudden urge to cry.

She did not answer until she had herself back under control, and took a few seconds after that to work out what she wanted to say, so for a long time they simply lay there, breathing the same air. “Alright,” she said slowly, steadily. “I admit it. I have grown more attached to Merril than I would like to be. But I have absolutely no intention of ever doing anything about it.”

“Well, good,” Fenris huffed. He stroked her ribs gently with his thumb. “I’m very glad to hear it. Please continue to listen to your sense of self-preservation.” He twitched a smile at her.

In response, she threw her arm around him and burrowed in, tucking her head under his chin so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.  
Fenris was afraid that Merril would hurt her. Isabela was afraid that she would hurt Merril.


	2. Varric

Varric was her favourite drinking buddy. He had all the best stories, knew all the best places to go, and he never tried to stop her from doing anything inadvisable. 

Varric drunk wasn’t much different from Varric sober, truth be told; he wasn’t one to lose control of himself. But he never tried to control anyone else. He let them make their own mistakes, and helped them clean up afterwards, always with a smile and never with anything like judgement.

(Merrill drunk was a sight to see; her wide eyes soft, her pale skin flushed and warm, her smile no longer nervous or confused, just happy, just looking at Isabela with her eyes and her smile and her happiness and…)

“…And then he fell off the balcony! He was fine, he landed in a hedge. He was picking thorns out of his behind for hours, but he didn’t break anything but his pride, and she forgave him eventually.”

Isabela caught her cue to laugh a few seconds late, and from Varric’s expression, he hadn’t missed her distraction. He didn’t call her on it, though. Not directly.  
Instead, eyeing her closely, he launched into a tale of Merril’s latest exploits. He detailed how she’d frightened the wits out of an attempted mugger by squealing excitedly and giving him a hug, and somehow ended up taking his coin-purse and his knife home “so she can give it back to him if she sees him again, the silly goose.” She’d heard a version of this story from Merril herself already, of course, but Merril’s take was that she was finally starting to make friends in the alienage.

“You’re not subtle,” Isabela informed him. It was very important that he understand that; he could get himself into trouble being “subtle” like that. She was doing him a favour, disabusing him of the notion.

“Neither are you, Rivaini,” he retorted, the ungrateful bastard.

“Excuse you!” She slapped the table and glared in his general direction. “I am a master of subtlety. Mistress. What have you. I am known and feared throughout Thedas for my subtlety. I am as subtle as a… as a…”

“Bronco in a magic shop?” he suggested.

“I hate you,” she said.

“You love me. You love me almost as much as you love…” and here Isabela drew one of her daggers and examined it closely, in a display of extreme subtlety, and Varric pretended he was always going to finish with “… ships.”

“I don’t love anyone or anything,” she declared. “I’m just like a bird. I’ll only fly away. That sounds familiar, is it from something? I think I stole it. I’m a thief, I do that.”

“I know, Rivaini. I know. It’s this habit of stealing hearts and flying away with them that worries me.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“When you fly away, you don’t have to see what you’ve left behind. When you steal something, you don’t think about what the person you stole it from is going to do without it.” Isabela looked away, and Varric abandoned the last pretence of subtlety. “Merril is strong, it’s true, and she can take care of herself. But she’s been hurt, and she’s been lonely for a long time. I just don’t want to see her open herself up, let herself hope for something real and beautiful, only to have it slip between her fingers. And I don’t want to see you run away again because you’re scared of feelings. But if you do, if you’re going to leave, do it before you crack open both your defences, not after. Because you can’t close that kind of hole alone.”

Isabela said nothing.

“Well, I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” said Varric. “I’m going to turn in. Goodnight, Rivaini. Think about what I said.”

As if she could do anything else.


End file.
